


Alleyway

by nowherenew



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Public Display of Affection, Small Portion of Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-06 22:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/423917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowherenew/pseuds/nowherenew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One moment, everything was the bustling marketplace. Then, Desmond pulled Shaun into the space between two apartment buildings and shut the door behind them, closing them off from the crowds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alleyway

Italian markets are wonderful. Crowded, but wonderful. This one, particularly, is beautiful. It's just down the road from the Ponte Vecchio, almost totally unchanged since the recordings of Desmond's memories. Shaun doesn't mind the crowds, because the smells of warm tomato and coffee, as well as the sounds of that gorgeous language, more than make up for bumping into a fatass over here or a running child over there. Also, Desmond is holding his hand. Shaun isn't sure when that started, but he's not particularly unhappy about it. 

Shaun glances up at the clocktower, stepping into the square. Desmond's fingers tense around Shaun's, and out of the corner of his eye, Shaun can see Desmond turning away from the square. He knows exactly what Desmond must be thinking--three bodies, brother-father-brother, gone forever, _never coming back_ \--and squeezes the large hand with his thumb. "Hey," he murmurs. "Let's go pick up yogurt, all right?"

Desmond nods, still engrossed completely in the cobblestone at his feet. "Sure."

Shaun presses the umbrella into Desmond's chest. "Hold this; it's stopped raining." He wants to give Desmond something to _do_ , something to take Desmond's mind off the memories that aren't even his. It's more selfish than Shaun would care to admit, though; he can't stand the thought of losing Desmond to his ancestors. It seemed before that the Bleeding Effect was just a side effect, something preventable, treatable. Shaun doesn't want to take chances anymore.

Desmond is fine after they leave the square. They head off towards the nearest grocery store, picking up more yogurt than the girls can eat, because last time neither Lucy nor Rebecca got to eat any of it. Shaun bumps into a middle-aged woman, and neither of them apologize for it. Desmond doesn't notice.

Suddenly, the colors and sounds of the market have been muted. Shaun looks around, frowning in confusion. Fearing the worst, he pulls out his gun, disoriented and unable to see in the darkness into which he's just been pulled. Familiar hands grab his wrists, and Desmond's voice is shushing him, urging him to "put the gun down, you idiot, _fuck_." Shaun holsters his gun under his jacket again, taking care to put the safety back on.

"What the bloody fuck was that, Desmond? I could have killed you." He can't keep the unbridled anger from his voice, the hateful venom, because he has no idea what he'd do if he killed Desmond. Not only would he have to deal with his own _feelings_ about it, he'd be the one tasked with telling the girls. No, thank you.

"Maybe. I could've killed you, too," Desmond replies smoothly, leaning against the mortar wall of an apartment building. Shaun blinks and pushes his glasses further up his nose as his eyes begin to properly adjust to the roofed darkness of the alleyway. Desmond reaches out and grabs Shaun's forearm, pulling him closer. "Look, Shaun. It's been good, hanging out like this. You know?" He chews on his lip, his teeth agitating the scar there, and Shaun _really_ wants to put his finger on that scar. To put his _tongue_ on that scar.

However, a certain amount of sardonicism must be upheld, so Shaun responds tartly, "Well, Desmond, now that you're finished talking about your _emotions_ , we do have a list of items left to purchase..." He never finishes, though, because Desmond grabs his neck and kisses him so damn clumsily that their teeth knock together and Shaun _will_ gripe about that, as soon as this is finished.

Shaun drops the shopping bags on the cobblestone, pressing his leg between Desmond's thighs. He slides his arms around Desmond's waist, ignoring the chafe and scratch of ridges in the walls of the apartment building against his knuckles. Clutching Desmond's waistband in his fists, Shaun grudgingly allows Desmond to push his eyeglasses up onto the top of his head, making a note to himself to also gripe about that, later. Much later.


End file.
